Finally, silence. The steel utensils are stacked, clean and shining. The pressure cooker sits dormant.

The house exhales. The men are at work, the children at school. This is Dadi’s favorite time. She calls her sister in Kanpur on the landline (she refuses to hold a smartphone). They gossip about who has bought a new refrigerator and who has "fallen" in the bathroom.

But listen closely at 4:59 AM. You will hear a soft creak. Dadi is up. She lights a lamp in the prayer room, whispers to the gods about her son's job promotion, her daughter-in-law's backache, and the rising price of tomatoes.

Priya, the younger daughter-in-law, finally sits down. She is not resting; she is sorting dal for the night, picking out tiny stones. It is meditative. The only sound is the ceiling fan’s rattle and the distant thwack of a wet mop against the marble floor. In this hour, the joint family isn't a burden. It's a safety net. If Priya faints, someone is here. If Dadi falls, someone will hear.